“I doubt if he forgets it for a second,” said Geoffrey grimly.
“I’m sure it will work out,” murmured Charles, running his finger along the page of the chemistry book.
“Don’t be too sure,” said Geoffrey softly.
Michael Satisky had sought temporary refuge in the downstairs library, where he sat in blessed solitude in a leather armchair, with a copy of Sonnets from the Portuguese hidden behind Appraising Antiques. The hearth rug, he decided, was definitely a Bohkara, but the mantlepiece vases might be reproductions. He hadn’t risked lifting one to see if there were any inscriptions on the bottom.
Eileen was down by the lake painting, and fortunately she refused to let him come with her, or to see the painting. It was probably to be a wedding gift to himself, he reflected, wondering if there were any tactful way to express a fondness for German handicrafts: Leicas, Mercedes, Porsches… Probably not, he decided, turning a page of Browning. He had promised Eileen an Italian sonnet as a wedding gift, but composing one wasn’t as easy as he had expected. He wished he could settle for free verse, since that was his usual style, and he could produce a specimen in a matter of minutes, but somehow he felt that the formality of the occasion required more structured poetry. He wondered if she were thoroughly familiar with Browning… Well, maybe a line-to start himself off…
What was that bit about “a creature loved by you might forget to weep”? How close to true that was, he mused. The frail, waiflike Eileen had almost vanished in a flurry of bridal veils and documents.
He had seen her for the first time at a Milton seminar on campus. She was a small, drab creature who sat alone and listened to the discussion with an expression that suggested she hadn’t heard a word of it. So he had befriended her, and offered to slay dragons for her-only to learn that she had enough money to buy a battalion of dragon-slaying mercenaries if she chose.
After a semester of free campus movies and long walks around the duck pond and the arboretum, Eileen had shyly suggested that he come home with her. He had pictured a widowed mother and a mortgaged farm; and now-this! Windsor Castle with ten bathrooms, and a family consisting of Clytemnestra, Walter Mitty, Victor Frankenstein, and Oscar Wilde. He shuddered at his own analogy. He was even beginning to sound like them.
He told himself that he couldn’t call off the wedding, because the shock might be too great for her reason, but he caught himself visualizing a honeymoon in Nassau, studies at Oxford, not having to work to support his writing habit… Eileen’s money.
“If thou must love me, let it be for naught except love’s sake only,” he wrote carefully.
Eileen Chandler frowned thoughtfully at the paint-splattered canvas in front of her. The shadowy part of the lake needed more gray, and the trees looked wrong somehow.
Perhaps she should have tried painting Alban’s castle, since he had been so insistent that she do its “portrait.” “Don’t forget the mice and pumpkins!” Geoffrey had quipped, so she decided to do the lake instead. After all, this was going to be a wedding gift for Michael. She hoped he liked landscapes; perhaps she should put a sailboat there in the middle of the lake.
No, better not. She was sure to get something wrong, like a rope out of place, and then Captain Grandfather would go on forever. Once she had painted him a picture of the Titanic, using a book illustration for accuracy, and even then something went wrong. He kept insisting that smoke couldn’t come out of all four smokestacks, because one of them was a fake, and even when she had showed him the book, he had waved it away.
Michael wouldn’t be so critical, of course. He almost never made her head hurt. She felt very safe with him, and very protected, as though she could finally be “real,” somehow. It wasn’t that her family didn’t understand her. That was just it-they did. Once when she had gone trembling to Charles to tell him she saw demons’ faces in her window, he had wanted to know if any of them had purple eyes, because if so, he’d seen it once while he was tripping on yellow sunshine. It was all right if you saw demons when you were stoned, but she saw them anyway. Finally the family had realized how trapped she was and let her go away to get better.
But they didn’t seem to mind, really, whether she improved or not. In fact, they hardly noticed any change. Michael would mind, though. He wouldn’t want her to hear voices or hurt herself. For him, she must be the fairy-tale princess and live happily ever after.
Suddenly her eye caught a detail of the lake that she hadn’t noticed before. With a brief smile, she dipped her brush into a smear of paint and began to shape it into the painting.
While she worked, a corner of her mind wondered if it were really there.
CHAPTER THREE
“HOW ARE YOU coming with the invitations, Elizabeth?” asked Amanda, setting aside a silver ashtray on the pile of gifts.
“I’m down to the Ss already. Carlsen Shepherd.”
“Yes. Dr. Shepherd. Be sure to put ‘Doctor’ on the invitation. He’s Eileen’s analyst, and he’s coming down before the wedding for a visit.”
“Oh,” said Elizabeth. “What’s he like?”
“We haven’t met him,” Amanda replied. “I believe he’s connected with the university. Eileen consulted him entirely on her own, so naturally we’re anxious to meet him. I can’t help feeling that his connection with us is just temporary. Eileen’s own physician, Nancy Kimble, is spending a year in Vienna. I do wish she could have come for the wedding, but she sent Eileen some lovely linen napkins.”
“Kimble…” murmured Elizabeth, looking over the list of addresses. “Aunt Amanda, Dr. Kimble isn’t listed here. Did you mean to send her an invitation?”
“Oh, we did, dear. Several weeks ago. Your family should have gotten one about the same time. I sent out the invitations that mattered first. These are just after-thoughts-Eileen’s school friends and some people Michael wanted to ask.”
“How many people are you expecting?” asked Elizabeth, deciding to let Amanda’s last remark pass without comment.
“Oh, less than a hundred, I think,” her aunt replied. “Most of our friends from the country club will be there, of course, but I really don’t think anyone from out of town will drive all the way down here. Such a pity that Bill couldn’t come.”
“I think so, too,” said Elizabeth evenly.
“I suppose your father’s sales convention couldn’t be helped. Although I do think Margaret might have let him go alone just this once. But we’ll manage, won’t we? And, of course, Louisa will be a great help. I am depending on her to see to the flowers. She is simply the life and soul of the garden club. Have you seen her roses?”
Elizabeth shook her head.
“Well, she’s bringing some over tonight to use as a centerpiece at dinner. Louisa and Alban are coming for dinner, by the way. We’ll stop in a few minutes so you can go upstairs and change. I need to freshen up myself. Oh, and you’ll get to see the lovebirds together. Now, you don’t need to hurry for dinner, Elizabeth. Take your time and unpack, because I’ve asked Mildred not to have it ready before dark. We want Eileen to be able to work on her painting as long as it’s light.”
“What is she painting?” asked Elizabeth, glancing at a gray and purple canvas on the wall.
“We don’t know. She won’t let a one of us see it. It’s going to be a wedding present for Michael. But I know she sets up her easel down by the lake, so I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s a landscape.”
I would, thought Elizabeth, but she only smiled.
“There seems to be quite an artistic vein in our family,” Amanda continued. “What with my interest in interior decorating, Eileen’s art, and-”